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Author
Topic: The things we put in our mouths (Read 11528 times)

Maybe it's the England in New England that made my grandmother insist roast beef wasn't roasted enough until it was bone-dry and stringy, or that a true supper could be enjoyed by dumping a can of crabmeat and some canned peas into a jar of white sauce and spreading such gruel on Saltine crackers.

Saturday was always Yankee soul-food night: One can each of kidney- and pea-beans (universally called "big" and "Little" beans, respectively) and a hot dog burned in oleomargarine, served with a fetid confection called "brown bread" (a brown cylinder of mealy yuckiness flavored with molasses and raisins, ribbed from the can it came from, steamed to warmth).

My mother, in between swills of Miller Lite and 20mgs of Valium, would concoct what seemed like an infinitly-diverse menu of indigestible terrors. Her fried baloney and white-bread toast served with broccoli still sends shivers down my spine. But her worst, most evil evening meal, guaranteed to send even the heartiest colons bolting for the powder room in a sweaty panic, had to be her unnamable high-fat-hamburgers-swimming-in-canned-gravy presented in a bowl and served with potatoes mashed to a runny fluid.

As a young adult I'd wonder where the inspiration for these horrors came from, as none of the women in my family were unduly burdened with creativity. The mystery haunted me for years until one day last week I came across this website:

The topic of this thread could make a person Giggle....but now that I've read the actual post I fully appreciatethe difference between good and bad food. As a teenager I had to go on a BoyScout campout to enjoy myfirst pancake. My mother's version was to say the least YUCK! And so it was with many dishes I once hated...knowing how to properly prepare food allowed me to enjoy many edible delights that at one time I found unpalatable.

The topic of this thread could make a person Giggle....but now that I've read the actual post I fully appreciatethe difference between good and bad food. As a teenager I had to go on a BoyScout campout to enjoy myfirst pancake. My mother's version was to say the least YUCK! And so it was with many dishes I once hated...knowing how to properly prepare food allowed me to enjoy many edible delights that at one time I found unpalatable.

Davie-

Liver will always remain one of life's greater mysteries, however.

I neglected to add that I am actually a rather accomplished cook now. But my taste buds are burned through from all the smoking, so I do tend to lean heavily on the spices.

Brent(Who makes a mean rabbit stew)

Logged

Blessed with brains, talent and gorgeous tits.

The revolutionary smart set reads The Spin Cycle at least once every day.

Al, actually one of my dearest friends is an animal rights attorney. She has a smokin' hot body and she turned me on to the whole vegan thing for health reasons and because I love animals. I also saw the following video, and it made it really hard to eat meat after that.

There was a study done comparing Seventh Day Adventists to Mormons. Both groups eschew alcohol, tobacco, etc. but the Adventists don't eat meat. The Adventists live significantly longer than the Mormons. Adventists have longer lifespans than the average American. Also vegetarians have lower rates of cancer and heart disease than meat eaters. Add to this the hormones and antibiotics fed to farm animals that we consume, along with the parasites these creatures pass onto us, well, meat just doesn't sound too good to me anymore.

"Many people, especially in the gay community, turn to oral sex as a safer alternative in the age of AIDS. And with HIV rates rising, people need to remember that oral sex is safer sex. It's a reasonable alternative."

WARNING!!!ALTHOUGH NO BUNNIES WERE HARMED IN THE EVENTS DESCRIBED BELOW, IT STILL MIGHT DISTURB FINER, MORE DELICATE SENSIBILITIES.

When I lived in Paris my boyfriend, Jean-Marc, gave me three tips for buying rabbit at a butcher.

1) Never buy a rabbit on weekends;2) Never buy a rabbit without it's head still attached;3) AND MOST IMPORTANT: Never never buy a rabbit from an Arab.

His mother taught me a great recipe for a white-wine mustard sauce with mushrooms. It's a very traditional meal in Europe, and tasty, too. But one mustn't look too closely at the bones, because they are decidedly odd and might disturb you if you think about it too much.

Fast forward to fall/winter 1992. Jean-Marc died in April of that year and I came home to Boston almost directly. I was in such a state of grief and depression that I didn't know what to do with my life. An ex helped me out by arranging for me to work at a bakery in Quincy Market, and I quickly became the night manager, responsible for the nightly deposits, etc.

Anyways, that fall/winter we hired a new kid to help me with the chores and customers. He was about 19, straight, and lived for House Of Pain and Mudhoney...kinda post-post-punk. He wore plaid shorts and striped shirts (or concert Ts), big Doc Martens (like mine, steel-toed and high-laced) and that ilk. His name was Michael, and we bonded in an odd kinda way.

Michael came to work one day with a bleached-out crewcut, and I was in thrall. I had always wanted to go Madonna blonde, and was most interested when he said that he does the same hair cut/color for his friends. I asked him what he'd want to do mine the same way, and he requested my famous rabbit stew that I'd raved about non-stop (but hadn't actually prepared since returning from Paris).

The deal was sealed, and we arranged a mutually-suitable time. As our schedules were not identical, we finally decided on the following Friday night. Without thinking again about it, I set that evening aside and did some shopping for all the ingrediants, saving the rabbit itself for last.

Boston has an Italian part of town called the North End, where I'd seen rabbits sold at numerous butchers for years. But that specific day no one had one. It was late on a Friday night (the beginning of a weekend) when I finally turned in desperation to the haymarket district, whjich is not the North End, its distinctly seedier. But it was my last chance before scrapping the whole idea in favor of a simple Coq au Vin (chicken).

The last butcher was about to close when I walked in. I walked to the counter and asked the clerk if he had any rabbits. Not understanding my request, he called to his associate in back. As the door swung open, I distincly heard Middle-Eastern music coming from the back.

The second gentleman, all hairy arms and big moustache finally agreed that, yes he had a rabbit...a fine rabbit...the best rabbit. he spun on his heels and returned from the back moments later carrying a small foam plate shrink-wrapped in celophane. It was what looked like a small animal skinned and cut into pieces, but had no head. It was frozen. He wanted $15 for it, which sounded expensive, but I didn't feel like bargaining and paid him.

As I prepared the meat, it looked OK, but different, somehow. The front legs were much too lean...no meat on them to speak of. In fact the entire thing looked a little lean. I figured that freezing had some odd effect on it and tried to remain positive. I presumed that it would "flesh out" in the lovely aromatic pot I'd prepared.

As it cooked, the apartment filled with an odor I'd never encounterd before. I smelled nothing like my familiar rabbit recipe. I tried to blame it on the American herbs or the flour, but knew that I was somehow mistaken.

Michael arrived at the appointed hour and I showed him in. he immediately noticed the aroma wafting from the kitchen and asked why it didn't smell like his mother's rabbit stew (Michael had an old-school Irish mum who emigrated to Boston in the 60s). I explained that I was using a genuine French recipe, and that obviously he was used to something less savory.

I cracked open a decent bottle of Cotes du Rhone and started serving the stew, which I served with my famous oven-roasted potatoes, making sure to dole out several healthy chunks of meat and spreading the white wine/mustard/mushroom sauce everywhere. We sat down and each took a mouthful, then looked at each other strangely.

"Where did you get this meat?""At the Haymarket, it was the only place that had it.""That Lebanese place?"My eyes got bigger. Jean-Marc's words rang in my head...Not on weekends...Always with a head...Never from an Arab...I dropped my fork."I'm not sure this is a rabbit.""It sure doesn't taste like one.""But what else could it be?"Michael's face turned pale and he took a big swig of wine, then let out a huge "Meow".

Luckily he still did my hair, and I ordered a pizza for us, meatless.

Brent(Who is ever the gourmet)

Logged

Blessed with brains, talent and gorgeous tits.

The revolutionary smart set reads The Spin Cycle at least once every day.

I haven't tried a white wine/mustard sauce with rabbit (mind sharing the recipe?), I usually go for a fruity-aromatic cider/apple/calvados combination. By the way, it's common practice among the local bunch of marketenders to leave an unskinned paw on the beast, not the whole head. The reason behind it is the same, tho.

So Bucko...tell us true. How was the pussycat stew??? Cute story...reminds me of another one of your stories.

I too consider myself an excellent cook...having been in fine dinning for over thirty years and having worked with someincredibly talented chefs. Far from my humble beginnings as a redneck boy scout patrol leader who dazzled the boysflipping flapjacks on an open campfire. Those were the days....so many lads and so little time.

I haven't tried a white wine/mustard sauce with rabbit (mind sharing the recipe?), I usually go for a fruity-aromatic cider/apple/calvados combination. By the way, it's common practice among the local bunch of marketenders to leave an unskinned paw on the beast, not the whole head. The reason behind it is the same, tho.

Maybe we should swap recipes, yours sounds great. There's a restaurant in Quebec City called Le Lapin Saute and it features rabbit almost exclusively. I had the variety platter with three different preparations...MMMMMMMMMMM

Brent(Who eats what he likes)

Logged

Blessed with brains, talent and gorgeous tits.

The revolutionary smart set reads The Spin Cycle at least once every day.

Matty the Damned has little regard for vegetarians. In his experience such people should be avoided as they smell funny, are crawling with lice and treat their choice of dietary practice as some sort of "lifestyle".

When I was at University, my campus offered a theatre degree. Consequently there was an abundance of appalling people that one had to suffer. Living in a student home meant that meals were cooked collectively and there were often visitors at tea time.

One more than one occasion I had to cook vegetable soup or some such other muck to accomodate the prissy middle class dietary whims of some unwashed refugee from Method Acting and Holistic Dancing 103. In uncharacteristic displays of passive aggression, I would always use chicken stock (made from brutalised battery hens) as the secret base for my culinary offerings.

One more than one occasion I had to cook vegetable soup or some such other muck to accomodate the prissy middle class dietary whims of some unwashed refugee from Method Acting and Holistic Dancing 103. In uncharacteristic displays of passive aggression, I would always use chicken stock (made from brutalised battery hens) as the secret base for my culinary offerings.

It's now all too apparent now. And a spoiler (in every sense of the term): The secret ingredient to turn anything salty pink? Canned beetsBrent(Who wonders how he survived)

Brent,You haven't lived until you've had an Australian hamburger: beetroot (beets, to you guys) comes standard. 'With the lot', means throw a fried egg and bacon to the mix (pineapple ring optional - personally, i think that is sacrelig.)

You haven't lived until you've had an Australian hamburger: beetroot (beets, to you guys) comes standard. 'With the lot', means throw a fried egg and bacon to the mix (pineapple ring optional - personally, i think that is sacrelig.)

Absolutely. People who put pineapple on hamburgers (or pizzas for that matter) should be drowned in a vat of boiling pig jizz.

"Many people, especially in the gay community, turn to oral sex as a safer alternative in the age of AIDS. And with HIV rates rising, people need to remember that oral sex is safer sex. It's a reasonable alternative."

The rabbit stew story is funny. Mother always told me the same thing about buying rabbit meat and never understood until now. OMG, inow if I buy rabbit meat, I am going to always wonder whether it's rabbit or cat.

When i was a kid, I used to hunt with my father and brother. We only killed what we would eat, and my dad made The Best fried rabbit, and the gravy was to die for. The secret, is to parboil the rabbit in a pressure cooker, then bread it, and fry.We dined on pheasant, and the absolute best turtle stew I have ever tasted.(you know they have 7 different kinds of meat)I had mastered the art of cooking rattlesnake when I lived in Oklahoma for a short stint as a newlywed. I actually miss having it.For an equally brief stint, my ex hubby and I used to raise, and dress rabbits. Flemings are really the best for taste, and tenderness.As for other slightly out of the way food items, I have prepared muskrat, squirrel,crawdads, and smoked my own catfish.See what you've started?

Logged

No Fear No Shame No StigmaHappiness is not getting what you want, but wanting what you have.

When I first saw that, I thought you said fried Nutella... and I was about to freak out because Nutella has to be the best shit ever... but it's probably impossible to fry... considering it's a spread.

As for other slightly out of the way food items, I have prepared muskrat, squirrel,crawdads, and smoked my own catfish.See what you've started?

Makes me think. If mankind had eaten up all chimpanzees and green meerkats before 1930, we would have one big problem less now. Like, who knows what bugs dodos would have bred if we hadn't finished them early on?

Place 1 wonton wrapper on the work surface. Brush the edges of the wrapper lightly with egg. Spoon 1 tablespoon of chocolate-hazelnut spread into the center of the wrapper.

Fold the wrapper diagonally in half over the filling and press the edges of the wrapper to seal. Place the ravioli on the prepared baking sheet. Repeat with the remaining wonton wrappers, egg, and chocolate-hazelnut spread.

Preheat the oven to 200 degrees F. Add enough oil to a heavy large frying pan to reach a depth of 2 inches. Heat the oil over medium heat to 350 degrees F.

Working in batches, carefully add the ravioli to the hot oil and cook until they are golden brown, about 45 seconds per side. Using a slotted spoon, transfer the ravioli to a plate lined with paper towels to drain. Then, transfer the cooked ravioli to another baking sheet and keep them warm in the oven while frying the remaining ravioli.

(The fried ravioli can be prepared 1 day ahead. Cool them completely, then cover and refrigerate. Before serving, place them on a baking sheet and rewarm in a preheated 375 degrees F oven just until they are heated through, about 7 minutes.) Spray the top side of the mint leaves very lightly with nonstick spray. Working with 1 leaf at a time, dredge the coated side of the leaves in sugar to coat lightly.

Arrange 2 fried ravioli on each plate. Dust the ravioli with powdered sugar. Garnish with the sugared mint leaves and serve.